


Better, Stronger, Faster

by Gala_and_Elle, theletterelle



Series: Slantverse [39]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gala_and_Elle/pseuds/Gala_and_Elle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob's got the tools. He's got the skills. He's got the drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better, Stronger, Faster

“Ow!”

Bob pulls himself out of the guts of the machine and sits back on his heels, sucking the sting out of his finger. Well, that was stupid. How dumb does he have to be not to remember to ground himself before sticking his hands into a box full of chips and wires? He’d better not have fried the motherboard; he’s not sure Maureen will spring for another one.

“I hate you,” he tells the machine. The machine doesn’t appear worried about this. “You’re going down. I _will_ fucking defeat you.”

The machine is not impressed. Bob sighs and heads to the kitchen. He needs a sandwich and a beer. Wait, fuck, he doesn’t get beer anymore; he keeps forgetting. He agreed to that rule against his better judgment, but the point is he agreed to it, so as tempting as the bottles look-- and they do, hell yes they do-- he keeps his hands off and pours himself a glass of Mountain Dew instead. “I hate you,” he tells the beer. The beer looks less impressed than the machine.

Bob’s not a negative guy, not really. He’s just frustrated. He’s been working on the machine for days. Feels like weeks, but that’s just because he hasn’t left the house since Maureen took him to pick out the parts he needed. He knows he’ll feel better once he gets the electronics under control. The rest will be a piece of cake. He munches on his sandwich and looks at the wiring diagrams again.

After he’s eaten, Bob goes back and stares at the machine in pieces on the floor. Decision time. Fuck the electronics; he’ll need to get permission for a longer online period so he can search the forums and figure out what he’s doing wrong. For now, he’ll stick with the straight mechanical stuff. He finished upholstering the bench last night; he’ll bolt that setup together and get the arm oiled up and working. Bob rubs his hands together and looks around for his toolbox.

Which he gave Maureen to put away in the garage last night. Aw, _fuck_.

No way around it, not if he wants to have anything to show for today. He sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

_is it ok if i run to the garage for a couple mins?_

It takes a couple minutes for the response to come back. _what for?_

Bob winces. _forgot to bring my toolbox in this am._

_that was careless of u_

_ikr? sry._

_you have 3 min. txt me w pic when u come back._

_yes m._

Bob races for the back door and dashes across the lawn to the detached garage. There’s his toolbox, right where he put it. He grabs it, goes to leave, then doubles back to grab the bolts off the workbench. Back in the house, he’s about to take his picture, but-- “Fuck,” he growls. Back into the garage again. His time is running out. He swipes the washers and nuts out of the drawer, then back into the house, and snaps his picture with thirty seconds to spare.

 _:)_ she texts back. _good boy._

_:)_

_when i come home you’re getting 15 w the strap for forgetting your tools_

_:(_

_sry bb._

_:( :( :(_

_go work on your thing. be kneeling by the bed when i get home._

_yes m. <3 u_

_< 3 u back. :*_

It doesn’t take more than an hour to get the base set up and the bench secured on top. Bob tries to wiggle it, and it won’t budge. He nods. Job well done. Next up is the arm, and Bob fully intends to get back onto the floor and start fiddling with it, but. Well. He’ll just sit down on the bench for a little bit, just take a break.

The bench is upholstered with padding and leather. Maureen picked it out, half a cow’s hide of soft black, split and tanned to a soft thickness. He’d promised her he’d do it justice, and he didn’t disappoint. The nailheads he hammered in around the edge are smooth and cool to the touch. It’s probably the prettiest thing he’s ever made.

He brushes his fingers over the leather and shivers. He made this. He’s making this. He loses track, sometimes, of what it’s for, so caught up in the pieces he forgets to look at the whole. This is for him, and he’s building it for her. Bob closes his eyes, runs his hand over the bench again, and palms his erection with the other.

There’ll be cuffs attached when he’s done, ready for him to be buckled into as he lays himself facedown on the bench and rests his knees on the pads. He’ll grip the handles and hear the smooth hum of the electric motor as Maureen sets the controls for the speed and depth she wants.

Bob’s hand wraps around his cock and strokes.

It’ll push into him slowly at first, slow but steadier than any human could be. He won’t be able to move away, only lie there and let it happen. Maybe it’ll be the purple dildo, short and thick with a curve at the end, or maybe the one that matches Maureen’s skin so well it looks almost natural. He bites his lip ring and whimpers, his hand moving faster.

She’ll press the buttons to increase the speed when she thinks he needs it, set it to go deeper and harder. Bob could object; he could ask and beg and plead for her to slow down, stop, let him up, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’ll be locked down, spread open, all choice taken away and no control left.

His fingers brush against his balls and it sends electric jolts through his body.

He’s building this under her orders, of course, but the fact remains that _he’s_ building it, _he’s_ the one whose mechanical and tech skills are good enough to make his own instruments for her to torture him. It’s so hot it makes his teeth buzz. He’s on the edge now, he’s so close, almost there...

She’s going to lock him in and _leave him there_ , helpless and unable to move as the machine he made _fucks him in the ass_ over and over and over--

Bob comes with a harsh grunt, spilling warm into his hand. He just barely keeps himself upright with the other. God. Sweet fuckin’ Jesus.

It’s good. It’s so good. He looks around him and tries to catch his breath. This is what he wants, exactly what he wants. Even when it’s too much and he doesn’t want it, it’s what he wants. This is his life now, and it’s very, very good.

When Bob’s breathing normally again, he cleans up and gets back to work. He’s already got a punishment coming tonight, and he doesn’t want another one if Maureen’s not satisfied with what he’s accomplished today. If he has to spend another 24 hours with his cock locked in a cage-- well, maybe he’d get more done, but it would really suck. The more he has done tonight, the more he’ll be able to show her. The prouder she’ll be of him. The closer he’ll be to done. He may lose control, but it’s him that’s doing it.


End file.
